


Crush The Heart You've Stolen

by Grinner_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	Crush The Heart You've Stolen

They wake tangled in silk sheets and each other, hair and breath and skin against skin. 

Or rather, _she_ wakes and _he_ watches; one strong arm around the delicate curve of her waist, one intense gaze upon the elegant contours of her face.

He watches the flutter of her dark lashes as sleep leaves her, the mild surprise in her eyes and the upward pull of her lips when she notices him watching.

And he doesn't wait for _Good morning_ or _You were a great fuck_ or some prosaic triviality like that. 

He catches her mouth in his - lips and tongue and _teethteethteeth_ \- and pushes her into too many pillows and too soft sheets, recalling the topography of her body as if he's learning it for the first time. 

The flavor of her kiss - sharp and sweet, greedy and giving and _exactly_ like her. The generous curve of her breast, that absurdly ticklish spot beneath her left rib, the star-shaped birthmark on her hip, and the smooth mound of her cunt.

Asami remembers things he never knew how to forget, and each time is both different and exactly the same. 

So he presses against her - _into_ her - and drinks the cries from her lips like wine and absolution. 

\--

And _later._

Later, he watches her making coffee in the kitchen, the contrast of her atramental hair against the crisp white of his shirt. He watches the graceful line of her neck, the drape of his garment over her slender frame, the way she wears it with all the buttons undone but the one in the middle like a tease.

He watches the length of her bare legs and the dainty dance of her toes upon the floor, and each time he thinks, _My shirt looks so much better on you than it does on me._

Each time, he thinks, _If you ask me to, I'll stay._

And each time, _this_ is how it happens. 

Azumi smooths out the lapels of his jacket, helps button his overcoat like some cliché housewife. She keeps his shirt and doesn't offer him a cup of coffee, raises on her tiptoes to press a swift kiss upon his lips like a gentle breeze. 

She watches him leave with _Take care_ or _See you later_ or some pointless sentiment like that.

And when he does, the gentle click of the shutting door sounds a lot like an explosion.


End file.
